


For a Good Time, Call...

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exhibitionism, Kink Meme, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tightly-wound Anders decides to give a phone sex hotline a try. The voice on the other end gives him more than what he expected.</p><p>Written in response to the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=45169525#t45169525</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, thanks to Vee for title and beta.

Anders nervously paced the length of his bedroom, ten feet from one end, turn and back. He flicked the worn business card against his palm, frowning, contemplating. It was stupid, really. He'd walked into the sex shop on a whim, thinking that he would entertain himself for a few minutes while he waited for the bus to take him home from the downtown clinic where he worked. His car was still in the shop, having been broken into yet again for the third time this year. The dingy little shop with the tasteless advertising in the window wasn't very promising, but it was amusing to browse the aisles for a bit. The clerk at the front, a bored twenty-something female with dreadlocks and piercings, barely paid him any mind. Perhaps she was relieved when he outright ignored her after a quick nod; acknowledgment so she knew that shoplifting wasn't on his mind.

The toys held no interest for him. He felt he was long past the time in his life where he could trust a one night stand enough to tie him up and do all the things he'd done in college. His roommate had been one of the few people he felt he could truly be himself around. A perfect measure of control and depravity. Those years were good to both of them, but they'd lost touch as friends often did after graduation. Sure, he was on Anders' social media sites, and Anders did check his feed every now and then, but they both had their own lives on opposite ends of the country now. So instead of indulging in buying a toy or even a book, Anders merely took one of the random business cards from the counter, and barely made the bus home.

'Looking for a good time, no strings attached? Our operators are standing by. Just $1.99 for the first minute, $.99 each additional.'

Under that, a phone number and a website. He visited the site, but quickly closed the page, doubting that the models used were the actual men he'd be calling. More likely they were old or middle-aged blue collar types looking to make some extra money while they ate TV dinners off a tray in their dirty living rooms. Anders felt immediately guilty for that thought, as it seemed that's where he was heading himself. Except of course, his future included cats. He looked up now, Ser Pounce-a-lot mewling at the bedroom door.

"What is it?" Anders asked. "Food dish empty?"

He sighed and started down the hall into the kitchen, refilling their food and water dishes. Mr. Wiggums, a stray who'd seen better days, lounged in the cat tree in front of the window, glancing over lazily before huffing. Ser Pounce sniffed the food, waiting. A grey tabby kitten wriggled its way out from under the couch, its tiny mews adorably pathetic as it toddled into the kitchen. Ser Pounce watched as it nibbled from the bowl before he ate. Anders found him in a garbage bin just outside his work, and had to take him in. Not that his apartment allowed for more than one cat, and he hadn't even told the landlord about Ser Pounce. A fair trade for rent inflation, he thought. With a smile, he walked back into the bedroom and shut the door.

Making up his mind, he unplugged his phone from the charger, kicked off his shoes, and laid down on the bed. Nervous, he dialed the number, pressed the phone to his ear, and waited. Immediately the other end picked up, an automated voice, deep and sensual greeted him with a quiet, breathy moan.

"Ooh, baby. So glad you called. Are you looking for a fun time? Say 'yes' or hit '1' to continue."

Anders tapped '1' on his phone. After following the prompts, and inputting his credit info – after all, what was another day in the shop for his car? – he waited.

"Hey, stranger," came a voice out of the silence. Not a machine. The man sounded tired, but in a, 'I just woke up and now I'm in the mood' sort of way.

"H-hey," Anders said, clearing his throat. 

A soft chuckle. "This your first time?"

"That obvious?" Anders asked. _Sweet Maker, what am I doing?_

"S'all right. I like them submissive. Is that your poison? You like someone to take charge?"

Anders closed his eyes a moment, thinking. Did he like that? Every day, lives were in his hands. He helped his patients, ordered tests, filled out paperwork, handled things in his personal life – bills and car trouble and various other mundane day to day tasks that when all piled together just seemed so stressful. To have someone else take the reins for a while?

"Yeah. Yeah I like that."

"Mm. Good. Because that's what I'm good at. Let me see if I can guess what you need. After a long day at work, you're tired. Sore. You come home, frustrated. But I'm there, waiting for you."

"What do you look like?" Anders asked quietly, trying to picture the man on the other side of the phone. Would he say he looked like one of the Adonises on the website? Tall with blond hair and blue eyes and chiseled abs?

"Oh, a little taller than average. Short black hair. Full beard and mustache."

"Yeah? What about your eyes?" Anders wasn't sure if this was normal. He never had phone sex before. He tried it once with his college roommate, separated when the holidays rolled around, but they ended up laughing through it.

"Green. Yours?"

"Sort of… hazel-ish. Blond hair." He glanced down at himself, still in his button down shirt from work and khaki pants. "Kind of skinny."

"Easy to pick up and toss over my shoulder then."

Anders laughed, wriggling a little at the thought of being handled in a way. "Are you strong, then?"

"I try to work out. I like pizza and beer too much, honestly."

Maker, this man was sounding better and better. "Sausage and mushroom?"

"Onions sometimes too. Hope you don't mind the spiciness when I kiss you."

Anders grinned, free hand coming up to cover his face. This was so stupid, but he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. "Yeah. I like onions, too. You'd have to share with my cat, though."

"I like cats."

"Me too! I mean… you don't think it's weird that… I mean, it's sort of… Hm. Man lives alone with three cats." Anders cringed with embarrassment. Then again, what did he care what some stranger thought of him?

"I actually have a dog. But he gets along well with cats."

"No dogs on the bed."

"Fair enough," the man agreed. "Just us on the bed, then?"

"Mmhm."

"Are you on your bed right now?" he purred.

Anders shifted. "Yes. Are you going to ask me what I'm wearing?"

The man laughed. "No. It's a bit cliché."

"What… what should I call you?" Anders asked, a vague picture of what the man looked like in his head. He wanted to put a name to it.

"Garrett. And you?"

Anders wondered briefly if he should make up a fake name. Then again, he reasoned, he'd already put his credit information in. It was likely they knew his name and all the data that came with a credit card. Garrett probably knew where he lived. "Anders."

"Alright Anders. After pizza and beer, we curl up in bed together. What are we doing next?"

"Hm. Movie. No. TV show. Something stupid. A documentary or one of those fake ghost shows." Anders grinned. It was sad, really, that he was enjoying this fantasy of dinner and cuddling far more than he would have if Garrett simply started moaning in his ear.

Garrett chuckled. "I love those. The host talks about how the building is the 'most haunted' in all of that state. Then suddenly something moves just off camera."

"And they all shout, 'What was that?!' and the cameraman starts running," Anders continued, laughing a bit. "It's so awful because they never find anything."

"Yet you can't stop watching."

"No, you can't," Anders agreed. "And there are dozens of shows just like it. So… we'd end up watching for a long time."

"Mm. I bet you would fall asleep. Tired from your day."

Anders suppressed a yawn. "Yeah. I think I would."

"I would hold you close. Kiss you gently."

Anders rolled onto his side, curling up, hugging his pillow. "You'd spoon me."

"Mmhm. You fit nicely in my arms."

Anders imagined it, Garrett behind him, holding him, one strong arm around his middle, feeling safe and warm. He missed it. Basic, quiet companionship. Sex was nice, but random anonymous encounters or flings with his coworkers left him feeling hollow and empty. He yearned for more. A relationship. Comfort at the end of a day. Something uncomplicated and wonderful. He sniffed, surprised to find he'd teared up slightly.

"Anders? You okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Anders said, trying to inject some confidence in his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… tired. I think maybe I'm done. Sorry there was no… you know. Naughty talk."

Garrett laughed softly. "Don't apologize. We had a good day, didn't we?"

"Yeah. I think we did."

"Think you'll call again? Dial my extension. Nine-Three-Zero."

Anders committed the three digit number to memory. "I got it. I will. I mean, if the mood strikes."

"If the mood strikes. Hey, Anders?"

"Hm?"

"Sleep well, sweetheart. It was fun cuddling with you and the cats."

Anders grinned. "You too, Garrett. Good night."

"Night."

Anders pressed the 'end call' button and laid there for a moment, staring that the phone. It barely lasted fifteen minutes, such a short conversation. But it made him feel good. Relaxed. It was a smokescreen, he knew. Just a phone sex worker pretending to like the same things he did in order to make a living. Maker, he really was pathetic. And what was worse? He was considering calling again, just to get that feeling back, if only for another quarter of an hour.

Confused and frustrated, he simply plugged his phone back in and pulled the covers up. He was too tired to do anything else tonight, and would worry about his impending path to extreme bachelorhood in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

When his credit card bill came in, he knew he would not thank his past self, impulsive and irrational for the subsequent phone calls he made over the next two weeks. Every day after work he found time for a quick ten or fifteen minute call, sometimes having to wait and listen to terrible hold music just to hear Garrett on the other line. It didn't occur to him how he managed to reach him every day. Sometimes it was right after work, other times it was later in the evening, but he was always there. He never had to wait more than half an hour and in the end, Garrett always sounded happy to hear from him.

He was sick. Or pathetic. Or completely crazy. He knew it wasn't real, but he didn't care. Garrett made him happy. He talked about work, about his co-workers, his patients – though nothing that violated their privacy. Garrett would in turn tell him about his dog or what stupid thing his brother had done that day. They talked about their favorites – food, colors, vacation spots. Anders didn't care if it was all made up. If it was, it was a good fiction. A sweet little lie that Garrett told all for him.

The fantasies came on their own, late at night after he'd hung up with Garrett. He closed his eyes and drifted into a daydream that eventually bled into his real dreams. Domestic bliss. Garrett with his windswept black hair and smiling green eyes. Their dog running through the yard. A house all their own where the cats enjoyed lazing on the sunny windowsills. They would come in after a day of walks through the park or out at the movies or even just getting coffee, come home and make dinner together. Then after, Garrett would hold him and kiss him and make love to him in their bed.

He knew he should stop.

He didn't.

"Today I took a plastic nametag out of a woman's vagina."

Garrett let out a noise that was half-laughter, half-disbelief. "You did not."

"Mmhm. Someone named 'Pedro'. Of course she had no idea who Pedro was."

"Well of course," Garrett said. "That's disgusting. I don't know how you do it day after day, sweetheart."

Anders smiled. He knew the endearment was fake, just like everything else. He didn't care. He loved it. "So. What did you do today?"

"Ah. You'd think I'm silly."

"No, tell me," Anders insisted.

Garrett sighed, a thoughtful noise, not one of frustration. "After I took a shower I drove to my mother's house. Helped her with a few chores, then we went shopping."

Anders was sitting on his couch, curled up with a glass of wine, pillow in his lap as he listened. He imagined Garrett on the other end of the couch, relaxing, talking to him about his day. "You're good to her, hm?"

"Well since my father died and my brother is an ungrateful brat, I'm what she has left. I don't mind."

"Where did you go?"

"Took her to the mall for clothes shopping. Department store for linens. She's always buying curtains, that woman. Maker only knows what she does with them all. I never see any but the awful red ones she has hanging."

Anders laughed. "A secret underground curtain trading club."

"With all the women she plays bridge with?"

"Maybe they use curtains as betting currency."

Garrett chuckled. "Maybe you're right. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of them."

"That doesn't sound so bad, actually. Curtain shopping. You think we'd ever do that?"

"Sure. Unless you'd want the neighbors to see us walking around the house naked."

Anders shivered. "Put on a show for them?"

"Would you like that?" Garrett asked, his voice immediately dropping into a deep, seductive purr. "Standing in front of our bedroom window while I undress you, kissing your neck, your shoulder?"

Anders swallowed hard. He put the wine glass down, hand starting to sweat a little. "Maybe," he whispered.

"The next door neighbors haven't noticed yet, but they'll look over soon, watching you close your eyes while I run my hands down your chest, over your stomach. I unbuckle your belt, push your pants slowly off your hips."

"Mmhm." Anders clutched the pillow tighter, eyes shut now, imagining it.

"My fingers slip into the elastic of your boxers, teasing but not touching. Not yet. You start to get hard and the neighbors finally glance over. They look scandalized, but your expression holds them there. You're so turned on, needy. Wanting. You beg me not to stop. Beg me, Anders."

"Don't stop," Anders whispered, breathless. He uncurled his legs, free hand now moving under the pillow.

"I take your hands, press them against the window frame before grabbing your hips. Kiss down your spine and slowly pull your boxers down, leaving you completely exposed to the neighbors."

Anders shivered, fingertips snaking into his boxers, playing with the curls of hair he found there, teasing himself with the anticipation. He wanted to touch, but he wouldn't. Not until Garrett did.

"Carefully you step out of them and I stand back up, naked too, pressing against you. My cock against your ass. Do you feel it? I'm hard for you, sweetheart."

"I feel it," Anders whispered, lying back on the couch, sure he was breathing too hard, too heavily.

"I kiss your shoulder, reaching down lower and lower until I find your cock. Are you hard?"

"Yes. Oh Maker. Garrett."

"I slowly run my fingers down your cock, reach just below to squeeze your balls. Mm. Do you like that? Would you prefer my mouth?"

"No, no, I want to hear your voice," Anders pleaded. He took himself in hand, bending his wrist to push the elastic of his boxers down, and wriggled until they were out of the way. "Go on."

"The neighbors can't stop watching. The wife and her husband. She's never seen a cock as gorgeous as yours. She wants to ride it. And her husband? He's fucking jealous of me. Cause he knows I get to make love to you. That I get to see your face when I slide inside you and fuck you against that window. Do you want that?"

"Yesssss… Oh Maker. Garrett, please fuck me."

"Mm, yeah. Bend you over, so excited I can barely prep you."

"I like it rough," Anders gasped, stroking himself, thrusting up into his hand.

"I hurry. Go as fast as I can cause I can't wait. I know how good it feels. Bend you over a little more."

"Fuck me, please. Fuck me. I need it. I need you."

Garrett was breathing heavily now, gasping. Anders wondered if he was just playacting or if he was actually turned on, touching himself as well.

"Don't want to hurt you too much, baby. Push inside you, trying to be gentle."

"I push back," Anders growled. "Need you. Need you too much to care. Want you. Fuck me now!"

"Thrust inside you. Doesn't matter who sees. Trying to stroke you while I… oh.. fuck, push inside you. So tight, Anders."

Anders gasped, imagining what it would be like to be fucked by Garrett, bent over and taken, listening to his wonderfully sinful voice in his ear. "Cover… cover your hand with mine, thrust back to meet you. Fuck. Fuck I'm close, Garrett."

Garrett groaned. "Sweet fucking Maker, Anders, I'm gonna come. You're too tight. You're too fucking perfect. Love it. Fuck."

Anders choked back a sob, squeezing his prick, thumb swiping over the sensitive head once, then again. He couldn't hold on much longer.

"Come for me, baby. Anders, sweetheart. You can do it. Wanna hear you when you come."

"Fuck," Anders panted. "Fuck. Fuck." His hips thrust. He was so close.

"Feel you tight and hot around me as I pound into you. Do you feel me? Do you feel it?"

"Garrett! Garrett, yes!" Anders thrust once more, toes curled as he orgasmed, come sticky and warm over his hand, on his stomach. He thrust again, riding the last waves of pleasure, sweat beading on his forehead, panting heavily. "Oh… Oh Maker."

Silence for a beat, then, "You all right, sweetheart? Still with me?"

"Mmhm." Anders slowly caught his breath, wincing as he pulled his boxers off and used them to clean up the mess. "Fuck, I… Garrett. That… damn."

Garrett chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah I know, baby. The neighbors thought so too. They left to go take care of themselves. Time to close our non-existent curtains, I think."

Anders laughed, shaky as he sat up. "Yeah. I think so."

"Maybe a shower. Together, of course."

"Mmhm. Then a movie in bed."

"Cuddling up."

"You'd hold me?"

"Of course I would," Garrett assured him.

Anders walked into his bedroom, tossing his soiled boxers into the hamper, and stopped. "Garrett?"

"Yeah?"

"…Can we… Do you think we could meet?"

Silence.

_Fuck._

"I mean, I-"

"I'm sorry, Anders," Garrett said gently. "You know I'm… This is fantasy, right? Just pretend?"

Anders swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah. I know. It was stupid to ask."

"Anders-"

"Gotta go."

He ended the call before Garrett could say anything else, feeling phenomenally stupid. Even if "Garrett" was gay and single, he wasn't actually real. The man's name _could_ be Garrett for all Anders knew, but he doubted even half the stuff he mentioned was actually the truth. And until tonight, it hadn't bothered him. But the illusion had been complete, and now it was shattered.

He tossed his phone on the bed and walked into his bathroom. Maybe if he was lucky he would drown in the shower and be spared further thoughts of how lonely and sad he truly was.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders threw the card away. Not that it mattered. He had the number memorized for how many times he dialed it, erasing it from his phone's history every time he ended a call with Garrett. The last thing he needed was for someone at work to go through his phone as a joke and realize he was calling a sex hotline. He tried to put it out of his mind, concentrating on work instead. Pulling double shifts, raking in overtime, he managed to pay off the mechanic and his higher-than-usual credit card bill. When he wasn't working or sleeping, he kept himself busy by visiting the coffee shop down the road, not trusting himself just yet to being idle at home. Not when his phone was so tempting.

He could call Garrett. Apologize. Continue their farce. Part of him wanted to. He'd been so happy, even if it was fake. Maybe he could even pretend this was their first fight. They could have makeup sex and everything would go back to normal.

"Maker," he breathed, feeling pathetic as he turned down his street.

His phone vibrated in his pocket; he ignored it. Probably one of his co-workers wondering if he wanted to pick up a night shift. He'd been taking so many of their hours lately, it wouldn't surprise him. But not tonight. He planned on cooking an actual meal for himself, putting on a decent movie, and possibly getting drunk before getting a good night's sleep. Carrying in the groceries, he kicked the door shut, avoiding the three cats milling about his ankles, begging for food.

"All right, all right!" Anders tossed the grocery bag and keys on the counter, filling their dishes, giving the smallest one – Justice, he decided to name him – a scratch behind the ears.

He changed into jeans and a t-shirt, leaving his phone in his khakis on the bed where it lay forgotten while he cooked dinner, and tried to think about something other than a stranger's voice on the other end of the line.

-

Several hours later, full and pleasantly buzzed, having binge watched nearly an entire season of some trashy reality show, Anders ambled into his room. He stripped and fell into bed, wincing as his hip hit something hard. Of course, his phone. He pulled it from his pants pocket and wriggled under the covers, sighing as he peered at the screen. One new text message. He tapped the icon.

**From: Unknown  
Subject: Hey**

_Hey Anders, I know this is strictly against the rules and all but I thought maybe I should make sure you were okay. Text me back just let me know? And if you don't want to, that's fine. Just don't tell my boss. –Garrett_

For a moment, Anders wracked his inebriated, fuzzy brain, trying to think of where he knew a 'Garrett' from. Then, all at once, it hit him. He sat up, eyes wide, looking down at his phone. He checked the number. Not the same number as the sex hotline. Not even the same area code. In fact, it was the area code for three counties over. He knew because his work had a sister clinic there and he often had to call them for medication confirmations. His heart sped up, beating wildly against his ribcage. 

Garrett texted him.

What did this mean? Was he just checking up on him? Did he think… what? That Anders was so upset he was going to do something drastic? Or was he just being nice? Did he truly care? Did it mean…

_No. Stop getting worked up about it. It means nothing. It just means he wanted to make sure he didn't lose a customer._

Sure. That was it. That was exactly it.

He tapped the reply button and hesitated. But what could he say? That he was fine? Thanks for asking? Should he ask him again to meet? Tell him he couldn't afford their talks anymore? Apologize? Before he could stop himself, he started typing a reply, going slowly to avoid typos in his drunken state.

_I'm fine. Sorry about asking if we could meet. I won't tell your boss. Getting too expensive to call the line. Sorry I bothered you._

He tapped 'send' and then added the number to his contacts. Even if he never used it, even if Garrett never texted him back, he would have a small part of Garrett that none of his other clients ever would. They could have his name, his story. They could even have his voice, but they wouldn't have his real number. Or his real concern even if it was via one little text. That belonged to Anders.

Still confused, he lay down, clutching his phone, and fell asleep, dreaming of curtains.

-

The next day Anders woke slowly, plugged in his phone while resisting the urge to look at it. He showered and chased several aspirin with half a pot of coffee. A rare day off, and he thought of the list of things he should do that day. Yet his thoughts strayed to his phone. Funny, before he called the hotline, it was just another electronic device in his world. A way to keep in touch with his co-workers, to manage his schedule and type reminders for himself to pick up cat food or keep appointments. He liked his phone, but wasn't glued to it the way other people were. He didn't use it for much, maybe the occasional picture of his cats or free app to play a new game on the bus when his car wouldn't work. But now it was like a beacon.

No, it was like a Siren, calling him to it, begging him to look at it, to see if Garrett texted him back. He glared at it from the doorway. If he didn't look now, it would bother him the rest of the day. He would check it, then leave it at home while he went out to run errands. Slowly he entered the room, sat on the bed, and took it off the charger.

One text.

He checked. It was from Garrett. Of course. Nervous, he opened it.

_Don't apologize. You didn't bother me. I miss your voice. I know this is stupid and unorthodox, but I was thinking about what you asked. Maybe we should meet. I know you're nearby because of your area code. I swear I'm not a stalker. Just delete this text if you never want to talk to me again. But if you do, I'll be at The Last Drop Café on 5th and Main. Every day at five for an hour or two. At least for a week. If you don't show up or text me back, I'll stop and cut my losses here._

Anders stared at it, gaping. Was this real? He knew he should be creeped out that Garrett knew his phone number, likely even knew his address. That he used it for personal means. But didn't he, Anders, start all this by asking to meet? Didn't he cross that line first? Did this happen often, he wondered? What the hell kind of fairy tale romance started with, "He picked up the phone and called a sex hotline"? And more importantly, did that tale end with, "And they lived happily ever after?" or did it end closer to, "He ended up chopped into little pieces in a dumpster behind the coffee house"?

He watched the phone's light fade, blinking back to the lock screen, then going black. He tapped it again to look at the time. Just before noon. He had several hours before he had to decided one way or another. Then again, he could simply go tomorrow instead, or not at all. After all, what could he possibly hope for? A cup of coffee, an awkward conversation? Maybe Garrett just wanted to tell him in person that it could never work. After all, he made his living by getting people off over the phone. It was one step away from being a camwhore, wasn't it? Did he really want a boyfriend who-

A boyfriend.

A date.

Was Garrett asking him on a date? Sure it wasn't a _real_ date. It was just coffee. But it could turn into something more if they both wanted it. And he would never figure out what 'it' was unless he went to the coffee house and talked to him. And he'd already talked to him, hadn't he? For two weeks straight, that's all they did. Again though, what if it was all a lie? Just some character he made up? And what if the picture Anders had painted of Garrett in his mind was wildly different from the real Garrett? Could he handle that?

There was only one way to find out.

He dressed and tucked his phone in his pocket, determined to find something to pass the time until five o'clock. Garrett didn't know what he looked like, after all. He could scope out the place, see if there was anyone matching the description he had. If there was, he would watch him. Maybe approach if he felt comfortable. If not, he could just leave. It was all in his hands, after all. Though a part of him wished it wasn't. He wished Garrett would come after _him_. After all, he wasn't lying when he said he preferred a dominant man. Their relationship – real or not – just fell into place that way.

"I'll go," he said out loud, ignoring the looks his cats gave him. "And leave if I don't feel comfortable."

With a nod, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders caught a matinee, had a brief lunch, picked up doughnuts and dropped them off at work. It never hurt to win a few brownie points among his co-workers after all, and he had several hours to kill before driving across town to the cafe. He pulled up at half past and parked in the lot, relieved to find a space off the street and away from the meters. Sitting in his car a moment, he peered through the large glass windows of the coffee house, trying to see if he could find Garrett, his heart pounding. No one matching the description, though it was impossible to tell for sure. He looked down at his phone, silent, no new messages. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped out, and made his way inside.

The Last Drop Café was typical of any coffee shop in the city, catering to the artistic crowd with strange black and white paintings on the brick walls, shelves of special blends, and plenty of 'save the rainforest' campaign posters. A corkboard in the main lobby area contained dozens of flyers for local bands, art shows and more, and nary could a table be seen that didn't contain at least one open laptop. Anders stood awkwardly inside a moment, looking around, before deciding to get in line. He barely registered what he was ordering – something with chocolate in it was always safe – and stuttered out a question for the barista.

"Huh?"

"A guy. Um. Taller. Black hair and a beard? Have you seen him?"

The barista shrugged. "Check upstairs?"

Anders thanked him and paid for his coffee, climbing the winding wooden staircase to the second floor. Up here, bookshelves filled most of the space, couches and comfortable booths. A sign for the restrooms near the back with a giant arrow, but no Garrett as far as Anders could see. He walked the aisles, sipping his coffee, and looked out the large glass windows facing the street-side. Cars and buses passed on the road below, men in business suits, college-aged kids with backpacks, various others walking to and fro. He always enjoyed the city, at least as a place to work. Part of him longed for some quiet rural farmhouse where he could be a doctor who made house calls to the locals, instead of treating stab wounds and drug overdoses on a nightly basis.

A tall figure with black hair caught his eye, and he stopped mid-sip to look closer. Could it be… No. It couldn't. Could it? More bravely than he felt, he quickly returned to the balcony near the stairs and watched the man step into the shop. Black hair, full beard. He couldn't tell from this distance what color his eyes were, but part of him simply _knew._ The man – Garrett, or so he hoped – ordered at the counter and looked around. Apparently spotting a free seat, he disappeared out of view. Anders paused, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. This was it, wasn't it? Garrett knew his description as vaguely as he did Garrett's. Blond hair in a ponytail, hazel eyes. Too skinny. It could describe half a dozen people in the café right now. And if he was wrong and the person he thought was Garrett wasn't? An awkward mistake, but nothing to worry about in the long run.

He started down the stairs, taking another sip of his coffee when he reached the bottom, and looked around. Sitting in a corner booth, looking at his phone, was Garrett. Or the man he thought was Garrett. He was dressed in a black button-up shirt, tight blue-jeans, and he was… extremely handsome. If Anders wasn't so hung up on the idea of Garrett, he might have chatted up the man on the off chance he was single and interested anyway. He started toward him, slowing when the man glanced over.

Their eyes met.

Recognition.

Garrett slid from the booth and Anders quickened his pace toward him, not wanting him to get up. He wasn't worth that. He didn't want inconvenience him.

"Garrett."

"Anders."

_Maker's breath, that voice._

Anders smiled. "I… thought it was you."

Garrett was standing now, the awkwardness increasing with each passing moment. "Yeah, it's me. And you."

"Yep. Definitely me."

Garrett laughed uneasily and gestured to the booth. "Sit?"

"Oh. Right."

They slid in across from one another. Silence.

Garrett laughed again, turning his coffee cup in his hand.

Anders loved the way he laughed, how it sounded. That voice, the deep timbre, it made him shiver, made him hot. He blushed, remembering their last conversation together, the intensity of his orgasm.

"This is…" Garrett started. "Ah. I hoped to be a bit more eloquent. I didn't think you'd actually show up, to be perfectly honest."

"Well 'to be perfectly honest', I'm not sure I was going to show up until I actually did."

"So you're not…"

"Hm?" Anders asked, keeping his eyes on Garrett's hands, watching as they fiddled with the coffee cup. Saw him bring it up to his lips, sip, and back down again.

"Weirded out by the fact that I looked you up."

"What? No. No, I figured that you had my information anyway from… It's fine. I shouldn't have asked to meet in the first place anyway. That crossed the line, yeah?" Anders asked, shifting. He sipped his coffee for lack of anything better to do with his hands.

"I'm glad you did. I… uh. Maker, this is fucking awkward."

"Yep."

Garrett laughed again. "Okay. Well. I'll say it first, then. I like you."

Anders looked up, searching those green eyes for… something. "Do you?"

"I do. I never had someone… y'know. People call in and they just want me to talk them through it. No one never … I mean hell, our first conversation was about pizza and cats."

"…The way you say that it makes my life sound as dull as it is," Anders joked lightly.

"No, I didn't mean… I mean I liked it. It's different, but good. In a good way. Because I like pizza. And cats."

"But you like dogs better," Anders pushed. This was familiar territory. Their first conversation all over again, this time face to face.

"Well I suppose so. I mean, I do have a dog and I quite like him," Garrett said, almost defensively.

"And your brother?" Anders prompted, wondering how much of what he was told was the truth and how much of it was a lie.

"Carver's an asshole," Garrett confirmed. "And I did take my mother shopping that day. Everything I told you was true. For the most part. I might have embellished a few things. You know. To make myself seem more impressive."

"So… you don't _actually_ have the key to the city for saving the mayor's son's life?" Anders asked, eyebrow raised.

"That might have been one of the embellishments," Garrett admitted with a grin. "What about you? Are you really a doctor?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And your co-workers…"

"All true stories," Anders assured him. "I didn't lie. I… didn't feel like I needed to. I just trusted you." It was strange to say it. Perhaps it was how real their first conversation felt, or maybe it was because he never thought he'd have to talk to Garrett in person. It was just easier to spill his secrets. "Not the most conventional way to start a relationship." He paused. "Is that… what we're doing?"

Garrett shrugged a shoulder. "Is that what you want?"

Anders pursed his lips.

Garrett leaned forward, covering Anders' hand in his own. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, sultry, closer to how it sounded over the phone. "Anders."

"Y-yes?"

"Look at me."

Anders looked up. Garrett's expression, his half-lidded eyes, parted lips, made him shiver. Garrett smirked, leaned forward, and kissed him, lifting his hand to cup Anders under the ear, holding him there. Anders groaned softly, tilting his head, returning the kiss, opening his mouth to an insistent and probing tongue. He tasted mint and coffee, and instantly wanted more. Only the fact that they were in public kept him firmly in his seat, stopping him from leaping across the table, or worse, submitting to him fully right there.

Garrett pulled back slowly, the smirk still in place. "You weren't lying about that, either?"

"Huh?" Anders asked, dazed. He was barely aware of the few stares their kiss had drawn from the other patrons.

"You like being dominated," Garrett whispered.

Anders blushed, picking up his coffee and taking a quick sip. "Maybe. Sure." He grinned, looking down at his cup. "Yes. I do."

Garrett slid from the booth and held out his hand. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"I…" Anders took his hand, but hesitated. "I want…" He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Pizza."

"Hn?" Anders looked at him.

Garrett smiled. "We'll take it slowly. We'll start with pizza. And cats. Your place. I'll pay."

It was an odd sensation of relief, followed by a giddy sort of elation. "And ghost detective shows."

Garrett bent, brushing his lips across Anders' knuckles, and pulled him from the coffee shop. "It's not a proper first date without ghost detective shows."

"This is… real, then," Anders said, needing to be sure. He led them to his car, releasing Garrett's hand to unlock the door for him. He paused at the driver's side, looking at him over the top.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Garrett said, winking. "It's definitely real."

Anders stood there a moment while Garrett got into the car. Real. The time he spent conversing with him over the phone, the feelings he had that he had started to carefully compartmentalize and shelve, he didn't have to box them up anymore. Garrett was real, not just a voice on the other end of the phone.

Grinning, excited, and feeling better than he had since the night of their last conversation, Anders slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Garrett's hand found its way onto his thigh, squeezing almost possessively. Anders decided at once that he liked it, and pulled out of the parking lot toward home.

Maybe his fairy tale was a little unorthodox, but at least it was going to have a happy ending for now.


End file.
